Deck the Halls
by The Snow Leopard
Summary: Ezri tries to get everyone to sing carols for Admiral Ross. The results are even more disastrous than her previous attempt.


Title: Deck The Halls  
Author: Paula Stiles (thesnowleopard@hotmail.com)  
Webpage: http://www.geocities.com/RainForest/Andes/3071/arch.html  
Series: DS9  
Part: NEW 1/1  
Rating: [PG, for language and Romulan Ale misuse]  
Codes: B/Ez  
  
Summary: Ezri tries to get everyone together to sing carols for Admiral Ross on  
Christmas Eve. The results are, if possible, even more disastrous than her previous  
attempt. Sequel to "We Wish You A Merry Christmas."  
  
Disclaimer: The grinches at Paramount own Trek and all of the characters in it. I'm  
not making any money off of this story. Really. Please don't bother to sue me. I live  
overseas and I'm skint.  
  
  
  
  
DECK THE HALLS  
  
O'Brien: Julian, where the hell are you? We're almost ready (stumbles over Bashir  
slumped in a corner of his bedroom). Ow!  
  
Bashir (cradling a square, blue bottle): Noo. No, Miles. I can't take it. I can't. Not  
another bloody, stupid, Ezri, happy-face, carol session.  
  
O'Brien: Come on, Julian. It's for Admiral Ross.  
  
Bashir: *Especially* not for Ross.  
  
O'Brien: Y'know, I've never understood why you hate him so--Oy! You're drunk!  
  
Bashir (squinting up at him): Very perceptive of you. I'm not going.  
  
O'Brien (wrestling the bottle away from Bashir): Give me that! What--this had better  
be synthehol....  
  
Bashir (leering): Oh, it's much more fun than that. Give it back.  
  
O'Brien: No. You've had more than enough. What *is* this stuff?  
  
Bashir: It's Bill Ross's guilt gift--for leaving me twisting in the bitter winds of  
Romulus.  
  
O'Brien (gasps): Sweet Jesus! This is Romulan Ale!  
  
Bashir: Yess. And I've got a bottle for *everybody*. Want yours?  
  
O'Brien: Well...  
  
Bashir (sweetly): Of *course* you do, old chum.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, up in Ops...  
  
Ezri: Has anybody seen Julian? He disappeared over an hour ago, and I haven't  
seen him since.  
  
Keiko: I sent Miles up to his quarters to find him.  
  
Ezri: Oh, perfect. *That*'ll help.  
  
Worf: Ezri, I do not understand why you are still with him. He is very unreliable.  
  
Ezri: Shut up, Worf. We don't need a repeat of the Battle of the Pat'akhs, okay?  
  
Kira (Coming out of her office): All right, folks. We're on in two hours and we need  
to get practicing. Where are Miles and Julian?"  
  
Keiko: Ummm.  
  
Kira (sighs): Right. Computer: locate Dr. Bashir and Chief O'Brien.  
  
Computer: Chief O'Brien and Dr. Bashir are in Dr. Bashir's quarters.  
  
Kira: Why am I not surprised. Computer: beam Chief O'Brien and Dr. Bashir to Ops.  
  
Computer: Acknowledged.  
  
Ezri and Keiko (in unison as O'Brien, Bashir, and a case of Romulan Ale  
materialize on the Ops transporter pad): Oh, no.  
  
O'Brien (waving at Keiko): Hi, honey! Want some Ale? Julian's sharing.  
  
Ezri: Oh, I'll just bet.  
  
Kira: It's times like these when I'm glad that my last boyfriend couldn't drink. I hope  
that's synthehol that you two have been into.  
  
O'Brien (staggering arm in arm with Bashir over to Kira, Ezri, and Keiko): It's  
Romulan Ale. Admiral Ross sent it to Julian. Want some? (He and Bashir giggle  
uncontrollably)  
  
Ezri (covering her eyes): Oh, I can't believe this...  
  
Keiko: After the last time? Are you kidding?  
  
Kira: Are you sure you want to go through with this, Ezri?  
  
Worf: If we do not, we will be dishonored by this miserable--  
  
Ezri: *Thank* you, Worf. I think we've already heard your opinion on the subject.  
  
Bashir: You go get 'im, love.  
  
Ezri: Don't push it, Julian. Joran is feeling restless.  
  
Bashir: Oh, my. *That* could make for an interesting night. Too bad I'll be too drunk  
to enjoy it.  
  
Kira: Okay. This doesn't need to be a disaster. Ross sent the Ale. We started the  
party a little early. I'm sure he'll understand...You do have a bottle for *me*, don't  
you, Julian?  
  
Bashir: Of course. Gotta whole case right here.  
  
Kira: Oh, good. Enough for everybody. Well, pass it around and let's get going. Ezri,  
what's on the play list for tonight?  
  
Ezri: But...but, Kira--  
  
Kira (taking the blue bottle that O'Brien passes to her and having a swig): Look,  
Dax, we're not liberating a planet, here. We're just singing a song and celebrating  
a holiday. Just wake up Curzon and get with the program, all right?  
  
Ezri: But, Nerys, they're drunk. Ross will be furious.  
  
Kira: Well, it'll be a change for him. Personally, I think he could use a little  
excitement, now that the War's over.  
  
Ezri (turning to Keiko): Keiko? Help me out here?  
  
Keiko (putting her arm around Ezri's shoulders): Ezri, I've learned a thing or two  
being married to Miles. One of them is: 'If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.' Miles, pass  
me a bottle.  
  
Worf: *I* support you, Dax.  
  
Ezri: Oh, shut up, Worf. You're not helping. Julian, gimme a bottle.  
  
Julian: Yes, *Ma'am*.  
  
  
  
  
Two hours later...  
  
Comm technician: Incoming transmission, Colonel. It's the Admiral.  
  
Kira (slurring slightly): Put 'im on, Lieutenant.  
  
Comm technician (aside to Bashir): You're saving some of that, aren't you sir?  
  
Bashir: Absolutely, love. Got one each for the whole Ops evening crew. For being  
so patient.  
  
Ezri: Right. Let's do it. (Takes a swig from her half-empty bottle and stands up).  
  
Ross: Hello, everyone. I hear you have a surprise for me tonight.  
  
Worf (completely sober): You have no idea.  
  
Ezri: Hello, Adm'ral. We've decided, to thank you for all your hard work on....um, I  
forgot. Anyway, we're gonna sing you a song.  
  
Keiko: A Christmiss carol!  
  
O'Brien: Hear! Hear!  
  
Ross: Ah. I see that Dr. Bashir got my gift.  
  
Bashir: Cheers, mate. Doesn't mean I forgive you, yet.  
  
Ezri: Never mind that. Let's just do it, everybody. A-one-and-a-two and...  
  
All together: *Deck* the halls with boughs o' holly, falalalalalalaaa....laaa.....laaaa...  
*'Tis* the sea-son to be jolly, falalalalaaaaaa...laaaa....laaaa...laaaa...laaaa.  
  
Ezri (smacking her console rhythmically): Keep up, people.  
  
Kira: Where were we?  
  
Ezri: Second, no third....Just sing along with me (sings) *Don* we now our gay  
apparel--  
  
Worf: I *refuse* to wear Lincoln Green ever again.  
  
Bashir (to O'Brien): What's he going on about, now?  
  
O'Brien: Long story. Tell you later.  
  
Ezri (glaring at Worf) Let's keep focussed, okay? (sings, joined raggedly by the  
others) *Don* we now our *gay* apparel. Falalalalala...laaaaaaalaaaaaalaaaaa.  
  
Kira (to Keiko): Damn. These falala bits're rough. I can't keep count.  
  
Keiko: No kidding! I think I need another drink!  
  
All together (more or less): *Troll* the ancient yuletide carol.  
Falalalalalalalalalaaaaaaaaa.  
  
Ezri: Too many la's, I think.  
  
Kira: Oh, well. Second verse, Admiral?  
  
Ross: Um, no thank you, Colonel. That was very nice.  
  
Kira: Thanks, Admiral. Happy Holidays 'n all that. Now, we're gonna head down to  
Quark's. Mr. Worf is gonna beam us down, since I don't think all of us...well, *any*  
of us, can walk that far right now.  
  
Bashir: We'd invite you, but you're not here (laughs hysterically).  
  
Keiko: Merry Christmas, anyway. Less' go, Miles. I am *so* glad we got a sitter for  
the night (She and Ezri herd the others onto the transporter platform).  
  
Ezri: See you down there, Worf.  
  
Bashir (muttering): Unfortunately.  
  
Kira: Lieutenant, you got the comm. Anything happens, let us know an' the Infirmary  
nurse'll sober us up. Mr. Worf, energize.  
  
Worf: Aye, Colonel (turns to the viewscreen as the senior staff dematerializes).  
Admiral Ross, I apologize for Dr. Bashir's indiscretion. I do not think that the others  
would have joined in if he had not been so persuasive.  
  
Ross: Oh. Well. I suppose I deserved it. I was trying to rebuild some bridges, there.  
Hopefully, they won't all fall down once the hangover hits.  
  
Worf: Perhaps you should consider recriminalizing Romulan Ale.  
  
Ross: What would be the point? It's been Romulus' biggest export to the Federation  
for decades. Uh, if you don't mind my asking, why didn't you join in?  
  
Worf: I am afraid, Admiral, that anything Romulan turns my stomach.  
  
Ross: Oh. So, getting drunk on Romulan liquor would probably be a bad idea,  
wouldn't it?  
  
Worf: True. However, I think that I will need to relieve Quark of some of his better  
bloodwine once I join the others. Tonight calls for something stronger than prune  
juice, however noble that drink may be.  
  
Ross: You're going to *join* them?  
  
Worf: Admiral...these are my friends. They may be foolish and undisciplined  
sometimes, but I have fought many battles with them, shed much blood with them,  
drunk many flagons of bloodwine with them. Dax was once my wife. She is still of  
the House of Martok, of my house. Chief O'Brien has been my comrade since the  
Enterprise. Dr. Bashir--Dr. Bashir has been my nemesis since I stepped aboard this  
station. He has never missed an opportunity to bait me, disagrees with me on many  
things, even stole my wife away from me. But, I also owe him several blood debts.  
And Ezri--for some reason, she loves him. So, I will go down to Quark's, and accept  
his taunts, and watch him make love to my ex-wife--and get very, very drunk. Do  
you understand, Admiral?  
  
Ross (wistfully): I wish I did, Ambassador. I really do. That sounds like some party  
I'm missing. Well, I'll let you get to it, then. Merry Christmas, Mr. Worf.  
  
Worf: Thank you, Admiral. *S Rozhdestvom Khristovym* to you, too (Ross signs off).  
  
Comm officer: Is that Klingonese, sir?  
  
Worf: Russian, actually. Klingons do not celebrate Christmas. However, it was very  
important in my adoptive parents' culture. I had better go down to Quark's, now,  
before they all drink themselves under the table.  
  
Comm officer (plaintively): They're not going to drink it *all*, are they?  
  
Worf: Lieutenant, Dr. Bashir made you a promise. I am certain that he set some  
aside for you and the rest of the shift crew (steps into the turbolift).  
  
Comm officer: Well...I suppose you're right. Dr. Bashir *is* pretty dependable--"  
  
Worf: Good *night*, Lieutenant (the turbolift doors close). I *sincerely* hope that  
Quark has a great deal of bloodwine left, or this will be a *very* long Christmas.  
  
END 


End file.
